Today Might Be The Day
by Slave2Writing
Summary: Emma might be the Dark One, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still love her wife in her own way. (Swan Queen Week: Greed)


_Did you really think_ , a deep throated chuckle resonates in her mind, _that you could have it all?_

* * *

"I love you," Emma pants, so many meaningless words rolling off her tongue, splattering the writhing form beneath her seconds before droplets of sweat roll off her brow and strike the curved spine. "You're so beautiful."

The brunette is practically keening with want, the pillow she's biting into doing very little to muffle the sounds. The cotton sheets are sticky with the salt of her tears, overwhelmed by the four fingers stretching her core, threatening to tear her apart as they increase their pace and curl into her. She can feel herself gushing, evidence of her arousal spilling down the length of her inner thighs and her wife's wrist, all of it pooling onto the mattress, her knees growing sore from the effort of keeping her body raised. Her hips try to roll away from Emma's fingers when, for a moment, the pleasure is too much, but the hard slap of a free hand against her left cheek stops her.

"Bad girl," Emma scolds, her voice dripping with sudden scorn. Her nails dig into the flesh of her wife's ass when the brunette sobs out an unintelligible protest. "What was our deal?"

"You'll… love me… if… I'm… good." The brunette gasps in pain when Emma drags her nails across the curve of her ass, digging into the flesh. "Please… Emma… I'll _be_ good."

* * *

Her mother's voice taunts her, the echo of her cackle making her ears ring, her vision growing dizzy. _You thought you could have it all… everything you wanted…_

* * *

"What's this?" Emma's amused chuckle precedes the arms circling around her waist, her breath tickling the dark hairs that stand up on the nape of the brunette's neck.

"Duck confit." She struggles to keep her composure, and keep stirring, a raspberry sauce she's experimenting with. "I think you'll like it."

"Aw, that's sweet." The pirate's voice floats from the front door towards the kitchen, accompanied by the _thump_ of his boots tracking dirt across the pristine floor of her foyer. "There enough for four, love?"

When he enters, the brunette can feel his appreciative gaze traipse up and down the profile of her body, completely bare save for the apron and heels Emma has insisted she wear.

"Four?" The brunette pauses stirring, turning to face Emma as much as she can, chocolate eyes widened with some tentative hope. "Is Henry coming home?"

"With you dressed like that?" Emma laughs in her face. "He doesn't need to see how much of a slut his mother is."

When the two Dark Ones laugh, the sound is always synchronized. It feels like there's a crowd of people filling up her kitchen, mocking her. The brunette turns around again, back to stirring the pot, the steam rising and billowing against her face, painting her cheeks with tears made of vapor. Emma's hands sneak beneath the apron, gently massaging her tummy, laughter fading into warm, affectionate chuckles.

"I thought it would be _so_ cool to watch Killian fuck you from behind, while you suck Jefferson's cock."

The tears are real now. Emma's hands split in different directions, one hand groping her breast, the other combing through the dark curls between her thighs.

"Emma…" She pleads, shuddering in memory of the last time Hook was allowed free reign of her body, his gleaming silver attachment trailing down the curve of her spine before inserting itself while her wife applauded.

"Do you want me to love you?" The Dark One whispers, kissing her cheek.

* * *

 _You thought…_ her mother is almost breathless with laughter, rolling around in hysterics within the confines of her mind. _You actually thought…_

* * *

The bathwater stains crimson. The brunette hisses in mingled pain and relief as she's lowered into it, her wife's arm wrapped around her waist, Emma's neck bearing the weight of her linked hands. They separate when the brunette is fully settled against the base of the basin, water sloshing off the sides. Emma crouches on the floor, resting her chin on her crossed arms, grinning at her.

"I'm impressed, babe. You did _so_ well."

"Is this all you want me for?" Her voice is bitter, softened only by exhaustion, throat raw. "To be your plaything, to fuck your friends?"

"Now, technically, _they_ fucked _you_." Emma laughs. "And no, of course not, sweetheart. You know I also enjoy your food."

Water stings. Soap stings worse. The brunette sinks her teeth into her already bruised lip, hating the lingering aftertaste that haunts the back of her throat, trying to muffle her pained groan as her wife carefully washes the bruising fingerprints and fresh new scars off her skin, magic rippling through the air. "The deal was you love me."

"I _do_ love you." The words are teasing and cold. "With _all_ my heart."

* * *

It plays over and over again in her memory. Her wife's insane buccaneer boy toy slaying Rumpelstiltskin with Excalibur, slicing Emma's neck with the dagger, binding the two of them to an eternity of bloodshed and unlimited power. The savior's heart burns too bright, her body trying to tear itself apart as the dark and light war inside her. Her survival instincts kick in, it's either let her heart burn out, let the light consume her whole, or tear it out of her chest - _just for a moment_ , she had bargained with herself, _until I gain control_ \- and let the darkness wash over her, cooling and calming.

After three days and three nights of mourning and worrying and praying and raging, Emma returns home to her and their son, throwing Henry out of the house and striking a deal with a stupid, foolish, greedy woman who actually dares to try and have it all, attain her happy ending.

 _Be a good girl, and I'll stay. Be a good girl, and I'll always come home to you. Be a good girl, and I'll love you with all my heart. Be mine, Regina. I'll love only you. I'll hurt only you._

* * *

Today might be the day, Regina always thinks. She turns over in bed and there her wife is. Emma always whistles a little bit through her nose when she snores. Evidently, there's no magic powerful enough to change that.

The morning light streams through the curtains. It catches on Emma's hair, golden curls that spill through her fingers as Regina tenderly strokes them, her arm already straining the limits of her energy. Her body will be sore for a while yet.

Storybrooke hasn't fully woken yet. There aren't any sounds except for the January wind whipping through the streets, the heavy splatter of fat droplets striking the surface of the lake, dark clouds rolling from the horizon towards the town.

"...no peanut butter…" Regina buries her anguished smile, covering her mouth with her hand, listening to her wife mutter nonsensically in her sleep.

Emma's brow is furrowed, a thin sliver of drool dangling from the corner of her lips. She looks exactly like herself, messy curls dangling around her face. Regina leans forward and presses the lightest kiss on her cheek, closing her eyes and inhaling. She smelled the same, dark magic hadn't changed that either. A faint vanilla scent that clings to her hair.

If she looks the same, sounds the same, smells the same, maybe one day she'll be the same. Emma will love her again, for real again, and Henry can come home. They'll reclaim their stolen happy ending.

Regina carefully threads her fingers through her wife's hair, not wanting her to wake up just yet, ruin her greedy delusions. She inches closer, sighing at the warmth her wife's body gives off, tucking her head beneath her wife's chin, pressing her lips against the base of the younger woman's throat. _Today might be the day._


End file.
